This is a dirty book. It is probably the dirtiest book I have ever read, and that is really saying something, because I am not new to dirty books.

As teenager, after I finished all the Sweet Valley High Books, I started reading adult fiction of the Jackie Collins variety. These were really fun books. On the whole, the stories themselves were only slightly more sophisticated than the YA books of my youth. But, instead of focusing on high school politics, they were about grown up teenagers, almost-recognizable celebrities living very scandalous lives.

It was like harmless celebrity fan fiction. Except that they were very, very racy. The first adult fiction book I read was Jackie Collins’ Lovers & Gamblers. While I was far too young to be reading it, I seriously loved it and read it multiple times. And not just for its blushingly explicit depictions of casual and frequently kinky sex.

Given that the plot of the series seems to exist only to facilitate explicit sex scenes, its not that surprising that the plot and characters are lifted blatantly from the Twilight series. The author openly admits that the story started as a piece of Twilight fan fiction called Master of The Universe.

The only difference between the stories is that instead of Edward Cullen being a vampire, Christian Grey is an emotionally damaged sexual Dominant who wants his Bella Swan – Anastasia Steele – to agree to play Submissive in a kinky BDSM relationship.

I realize that sounds really different, but in practice, it isn’t.

Basically, Christian looks and behaves almost exactly like Edward Cullen – down to the copper hair and chiseled abs. Like Edward, he fights a compulsion to hurt the girl he loves, and obsesses on controlling and protecting her.

Like Bella Swan, Anastasia (Ana) Steele is beautiful and special, and only she thinks she is ordinary. She believes that she is too pale and skinny, that her eyes are too big and she is too clumsy. These ridiculous insecurities prevent her from realizing that the most beautiful and mysterious man on earth is hopelessly in love with her. He almost immediately wants to give up his dangerous ways have a real relationship with her and she is somehow FURIOUS about it! The only thing keeping them apart is Ana’s stubborn insistence on acting like an idiot.

Exactly like Bella Swan, you guys.

I know that Twilight itself is rather poorly written, but the writing in Fifty Shades is epically awful. I’m never one to complain about a little explicit sex in my reading, but even Jackie Collins included an actual plot between the “good parts”. Otherwise, it’s just LadyPorn for the Twilight Soul. There is literally so much distractingly narrated sex in these books that I actually tried to stop reading those scenes.

But, literally nothing else happens.

Any semblance of a story runs out halfway through the second book, so the third book consists of Ana and Christian being rich and in love and hanging out with their bodyguards and maids. It would be very Downton Abbey, if Downton had a sex dungeon.

I have to admit that the biggest complaint I had about Twilight was that it didn’t have enough sex in it. But, the biggest complaint I have about Fifty Shades, is that it has too much sex. I think this makes a pretty convincing argument for splicing the books together. (If someone does this, please let me know!)

Having started as fan fiction – which is really just a fantasy about a fantasy – this book is just using the plot of Twilight as a vehicle for wish fulfillment.

So, to me, the most interesting thing about both stories is to consider what these fantasies say about the reality it is intended to stand in contrast to. Does this mean that ladies these days are beset by men who are mean for no reason, never buy them anything, criticize them for eating too much, make them have jobs, drive their own cars and engage in boring and infrequent sex?

That’s kind of sad, ladies.

I have no comment on the cover art for these books. I was grateful to read it on my phone, so I didn’t have to admit to anyone that I was reading porn.

If Richelle Mead published her grocery lists, I would buy them and read them and love them. I would seek out the international editions and marvel at the beautiful cover art. I feel sure that they would contain clever commentary and sarcastic statements and eventually break my heart and make me cry…

Thankfully, Richelle publishes actual books. Entire series, in fact.

Just as life is filled with beginnings and endings – each bitter and sweet in its own way – in the last two weeks Richelle has published a book which starts a new series – Bloodlines – and a book to end a series – Succubus Revealed.

The Bloodlines series is a spin-off of the greatest YA Paranormal series in the history of the world (yeah, I said it) – Vampire Academy. VA is a lesson in not judging a book series by its embarrassing cover art, but also not allowing Oneself to be turned off or confused by fancy words like “Strigoi” and Moroi” and thinking that One will not not like this book filled with unfamiliar words and bound by a cover which features a terrible red-toned picture of a model who looks like a 1990s Angelina Jolie – and not in a good way. However, once One has moved beyond One’s prejudices and misgivings, One will fall in love with rebellious, ass-kicking Rose Hathaway and her friends and classmates at St. Vladimir’s Academy. One may even find Oneself crying inconsolably in the middle of the night while breathlessly reading certain volumes in the six book series.

Bloodlines features characters from the VA universe, but focuses on Sydney Sage – a teenaged human girl who is part of a secret society sworn to protect the human race from the knowledge and influence of vampires. Sydney has been assigned to protect a vampire princess – Jill Dragomir – from an assassination which – if successful – could throw the vampire world into a turmoil so great that it could not be hidden from the human world.

Thankfully, said protecting takes place at a human boarding school in California, and features everyone’s favorite scorned bad-boy vampire – Adrian Ivashkov – in all his hard-drinking, cigarette-smoking, sarcastically sexy glory.

While many of the characters are familiar to fans of VA, there are new characters and places to learn about – so Bloodlines is light on the heart-breaking and nail-biting usually associated with a Richelle Mead novel. Its cool, though. I am already imagining the places on my heart Richelle is aiming for, and how it will hurt so good and I will cry so hard and curse the long months between books.

Succubus Revealed is the final volume in Richelle’s super-adult series about reluctant Seattle succubus, Georgina Kincaid. When I say “super-adult” I mean that every book features at least one very sexually explicit chapter. If you don’t like that sort of thing, steer clear – or just skip that chapter, because these books are so good I would hate for the prudes of the world to miss out on Georgina’s adventures in Heaven, Hell and cocktails.

Georgina is an immortal shapeshifter who sold her soul to Hell, in exchange for the husband she betrayed forgetting she ever existed. She has spent the centuries an employee of the bureaucracy of Hell, where she is assigned to use sex to steal the energy and corrupt the souls of mortal men. In her current incarnation, Georgina manages a cool bookstore in Seattle and while Hell would prefer that she seek out pure souls to corrupt, she prefers to corrupt only the already corrupted.

For a girl who makes her living screwing strangers, she’s surprisingly funny and likeable. Her friends – human, damned and otherwise – are equally engaging and interesting. Its hard to hate a girl who introduced me to both the vodka gimlet and the white chocolate mocha.

Succubus Revealed wraps up the frustrating and star-crossed romance between Georgina and mortal author Seth Mortensen. The troubled relationship between Georgina and Seth is the heart of this series, but as with VA, secondary characters like Carter – an angel with a taste for liquor – and Jerome – the Arch Demon of Seattle who is a dead ringer for John Cusack, fill out a cast of characters I could read about forever.

I wish I could continue to read about Georgina as she balances the demands of managing a bookstore and being a good girlfriend with stealing the the lifeforce of random nefarious men all while saving Seattle from villains of both the human and hellish variety. But, alas…it was not to be.

One of the things that makes a Richelle Mead series so satisfying is that Richelle always has a plan. She has an actual plot outline and story arc for all of her series. It dosen’t sound revolutionary, but I can name several popular authors (cough, cough, Charlaine Harris, cough, cough, Maggie Steifvater) who are not effectively employing this method. I can’t say I blame an author for writing a standalone novel, or short series with no grander plan than getting published. But then said novel or short series is published, and finds success and entreaties for a sequel – or sequels – arrive, and what’s a working author to do? Just come up with something. It usually turns out alright, people like me buy the books and generally like them OK.

But its frustrating as a reader to feel like not only are you not sure what happens next – neither is the author.

This dosen’t happen in a Richelle Mead series. Stories have an arc, things happen in one book that acquire significance in later books. Fancy concepts like foreshadowing are utilized. Characters die – or don’t die – with deliberation and meaning. Storylines are resolved – or aren’t – and reignite later. And sadly – when its over, its over.

And its over for Georgina Kincaid. I’m sad, but satisfied that Georgina’s story ends the way that Richelle always intended it to. But at the same time, Sydney Sage’s story is brand new. There are terrible and beautiful things that will surely befall her in the next five books. I will worry about Sydney and Jill and Adrian for months while I wait for the next book to come out, which I will then read in record time, and start worrying all over again.

As you have probably surmised, I love YA. I love it because as a virtual grown-up, its always an escape for me. I gave up on “serious fiction” a long time ago. I made the decision that I didn’t want reading to be a chore, I wanted it to be an escape. I wanted it to be fun. I live a real life, with real problems and I don’t really want to read stories about real life.

This book is real life, and in this case it hit particularly close to home for me.

This book was pretty serious. It is the story of a girl named Mia who takes a drive with her parents and younger brother one winter morning. The drive ends in an accident which takes the lives of her parents and brother – leaving Mia gravely injured and trapped in a limbo of sorts. Like a ghost, she wanders the hallways of the hospital where her body lies comatose, reflecting on her life and trying to decide whether to try to live her now-shattered life….or to give up the fight and die.

Pretty heavy, right?

It is very heavy, yet still enjoyable to read. Mia’s life is simple and beautiful. She has no superpowers, there are no vampires or shapeshifters making things interesting. It is simply the story of a 17 year old girl – the child of mellowing punk rock parents. Despite her punk roots, Mia has become a talented classical cellist and has applied to Julliard. Her life is filled with the usual drama and moderate angst that are the hallmarks of teenage life. Her boyfriend Adam is a talented musician in a local band on the rise, he fits almost perfectly into her quirky musical family – but in the days before the accident Mia had begun to fret that they would grow apart when high school drew to a close. Before the accident, it wasn’t quite clear to Mia that her life was filled with such possibility and love.

Her reflections on her life paint a portrait of a family both unconventional and extraordinary and make the choice that Mia makes all the more heartbreaking. She watches as her family and friends implore her to stay, but whisper quietly that they will forgive her if she cannot bear the weight of the tragedy.

I won’t tell you what Mia chooses, but I will say this: As I read this book I was quietly annoyed that the author recently published a sequel, Where She Went. I love a series, but I also appreciate a good stand alone story. I hate to see perfect single volume tale ruined after the fact by the desire for sequel sales. I prepared myself to use this story as an example of an unnecessary sequel and rant and rave about greed and how series are ruining YA, etc etc etc.

But, when I finished the story, I realized I was dying to know Where She Went. So, I will continue to read Mia’s story.

Just not yet. As I was reading this book, friends of mine lost a young family member to a tragic car accident. I had only met this young woman a few times, but she was sweet and kind and her family loved her dearly. She was a real young girl, who lived and laughed and danced and loved – and in a moment she was gone. There was no time for her to choose to stay or not. Her shattered family stays behind – grappling with the unimaginable – and comforted only by the dark reality that she did not suffer.

This was the first book I read on my brand new Kindle, so its kind of special.

I love my beautiful book machine, but I miss cover art. And this book has lovely cover art, so who knows if I would have loved it more or less if I read it the old fashioned way.

Paranormacy is the story of Evie, a 16 year-old government employee who loves pop culture, is enamored by teen culture – specifically high school – and hunts paranormal creatures. So, yes, its pretty much the story of my life. Except that I only act 16, but in reality I am actually a few years older. Yeah. Who needs reality anyway, right?

Hers is a glamorless life. Allegedly human, she is able to see past all supernatural glamor – and is thusly very valuable to the International Paranormal Containment Agency (IPCA), where she works as a paranormal tracker and trapper. An orphan, she is cared for by the agency and assigned to a woman named Raquel, who is kind of like a cross between her foster mother and boss. Given that Evie lives this very unconventional but sheltered life, never attending high school, never knowing anyone her age, she wants nothing more than to be a normal teenaged girl. Her only knowledge of teenaged life comes from watching TV shows – her favorite is a teen soap called Easton Heights. (In my mind this is a reference to this 90s show that somehow never caught on, despite featuring a rocking hit song sung by a pre-90210 Jamie Walters.)

Oh and she loves anything pink and sparkly. Ok. So, no one is perfect.

Evie is kind of exploited by her employer/ward for her special skills. She is kept in what amounts to a institutionally gilded cage – where she has an apartment of sorts and is home schooled and she is only allowed out into the world to capture paranormal creatures. A little bit brainwashed, she believes she is doing the right thing – protecting the world from vampires, werewolves and the like. But is she?

When she captures a boy her own age named Lend (lamest name ever), Evie begins to question who and what she is, and if she is really using her talents for good.

This book is completely devoid of profanity. Before you get too disappointed, the author devised a clever way to keep her heroine swearing without rousing the ire of any boring censors. Evie’s best friend is a foul-mouthed mermaid who can only speak via a computer translator which translates every dirty word as “bleep”, a pseudonym that Evie adopts uttering such immortal lines as “What the bleep am I?” and “Oh, bleep.”

It might say more about my unending affection for Richelle Mead’s Succubus series than this series itself when I say that this kind of reminded me of a YA version of Mead’s Succubus books. It has a bit of a derivative feel but, I enjoyed it all the same.

According to The Oracle known as Amazon.com, Paranormalcy will eventually become a trilogy. The next installment – Supernaturally – is due in July 2011.

Can I just say, as much as I despise the terrible heat and sunshiney-ness of summer, this one is shaping up to be quite good for books – both YA and otherwise. In addition to the final book in Wolves of Mercy Falls series, this summer also brings the sequel to Once a Witch, the first book in the aforementioned Richelle Mead’s Vampire Academy spin-off series Bloodlines as well as the final book in the super-adult Succubus series – Succubus Revealed.

So, apparently the Wall Street Journal has discovered Young Adult fiction…. and they HATE it.

Whew!

For a moment I was worried that YA had jumped the shark, and even old people were into it now.

I guess old people were tired of complaining about loud music and computers, so they decided to take a trip to the YA section at Barnes and Noble, and they were shocked – SHOCKED I TELL YOU – at what they found. The Wall Street Journal – that bastion of youth-focused culture and edginess – felt it was its duty to warn the world of the horror lurking in school libraries and bookshelves all across America. You can read the article here.

The crux of WSJ’s complaint is the same complaint that old people have had about young people since time immemorial. Why can’t you kids like good music/movies/books/clothes like they had back in my day?

The author – someone named Meghan Cox Gurdon – essentially argues that YA books these days are all about cutting and raping and incest. Letting kids read about such things normalizes them and makes kids more likely to cut and rape and incest. Or something.

Back in her day YA books were dark too, but they were dark in a more modest and appropriate way. Books used to only allude to drugs and sex and violence, and never came right out and used the F-word! The F-word! Can you imagine? Grandma Gurdon seems to think that kids should just pipe down about their issues, because if other kids find out about problems they might get problems too!

She even drags the beloved Judy Blume into her awful argument, insisting that if Publishers Weekly says that Lauren Myracle is “this generation’s Judy Blume” that the writers bear comparison. They don’t, and not just because Lauren Myracle’s writing is nowhere near the caliber of Judy Blume, but also because Judy Blume is this generation’s Judy Blume. Judy Blume is timeless. Lauren Myracle is meh.

Grandma Gurdon even pretends to be cool and relevant by suggesting a few appropriate selections for “Young Men” and “Young Women”. The best part about the suggested reading isn’t just that she thinks boys and girls would never like the same books, but also that 6 books are suggested for boys, but only 5 for girls. Because boys are better readers, right? Or perhaps girls shouldn’t be reading books anyway, they should be learning about more relevant things like housekeeping? Also, of the 11 books suggested – only 7 were published in this century.

The irony of suggesting that kids- but only the boys – read Farenheit 451 while at the same time suggesting that some books are dangerous seems to escape Grandma too.

Oh and the comments on the article are like the Circus of Your Elders. One commenter – whose user name is her husband’s name, but is adorably modern enough to sign her actual name – realizes that the reason that her YA novel has been rejected 12 times is that all the kids want to read about is bestiality, self-mutilation and gore. I think its probably more likely that her novel remains unpublished because she is clearly out of touch with what is popular in her chosen genre.

At the end of the day, it really dosen’t matter what the oldsters at the WSJ think about the state of YA literature. I’m pretty sure that the first time most teenagers heard about the WSJ was when this article started trending on Twitter today. All of this is pretty reassuring to this adult fan of YA literature. If the Generation Gap can survive global warming and the Baby Boom, maybe there’s hope for humanity after all.

There was a time and place in my life when I LOVED these books. Well, either I have changed or Sookie Stackhouse has changed.

I hate to say it, but I don’t think its me – its her.

Before I get too snippy, I must first acknowledge that this series -popularly known as the books that inspired the HBO show True Blood, but also known as The Southern Vampire Mysteries – started as a fun, genre-bending revolution in popular fiction. In a world before (and after) vampires were cool, seasoned mystery writer Charlaine Harris took a murder mystery, added a unique supernatural element and out came Dead Until Dark. At its core, DUD was a pretty standard murder mystery set in a small town, except that the small town was Bon Temps, Louisiana – home to vampires, shapeshifters and faeries, oh my!

Though she is frequently falsely accused of copycatting the human-girl-in-love-with-vampire-and-BFFs-with-shapeshifter storyline – one look at the 2001 copyright date on DUD reveals that Charlaine was well ahead of the Twilight curve. Also, where that other vampire story is all about love, Sookie’s stories were rarely that serious. One of the things I initially loved about Sookie was that she was careful not to love any vampire, but never bashful about loving up on anyone.

In the beginning, Sookie was just a perky blonde telepathic waitress, who was smarter and stronger than she looked. She fell for Bon Temps’ first official vampire – the hilariously-named Bill Compton – mostly because she couldn’t read his thoughts. Never short on admirers, Sookie’s telepathic gift gave her an unappetizing glimpse into the mind of every man who struck her fancy, and thus she was the prettiest 20-something virgin on earth. Not for long. In the succeeding books, Sookie has relations with men of every stripe and supernatural origin.

For eight blissful books – despite murder and mayhem galore – things just never seemed all that serious in Sookie’s world. Vampire underworld politics were constantly upstaged by Sookie’s real world problems, like making ends meet on her waitress salary without taking money from her wealthy supernatural suitors.

Somewhere along the way, however, things got complicated. Money becomes the least of Sookie’s problems as she is drawn further down the rabbit hole into a confusing pseudo-marriage to a beautiful vampire and the discovery of her own magical origin.

The demands of an increasingly intricate mythology seem to weigh on Charlaine Harris. Not long ago, she posted an entry on her blog addressing nasty comments from readers complaining about the abruptly dark turn Sookie’s life takes in Dead and Gone, the 9th book in the series. She makes the excellent point that she is the author of this story, and novels are not written by committee. And she’s right.

Charlaine Harris is a far better writer than I – and I am genuinely an ardent fan of her work. Honestly, her worst book is still better than the best work of many other authors – so far be it from me to try to tell her that she’s writing her story wrong. I just can’t help but wonder if its just gone on too long. Charlaine has said that she knows how Sookie’s story ends, and I believe her. I think she knows where it ends, and its starting to feel like she’s just killing time until her publishing contract allows her to share that ending with the world.

The latest installment, Dead Reckoning, finds Sookie half-hearted about everything in her world. She’s unsure if she really loves her beautiful vampire “husband”, she is rightfully suspicious of the motives of her new faery family and is feeling increasingly guilty and philosophical about her role in a series of supernatural assassinations.

Through a string of misfortunes and windfalls, Sookie has more money than she knows what to do with. For a girl who started out as an orphan and an outcast, Sookie has come quite a long way in eleven books. Modern Sookie has more friends and family than she knows what to do with. She spends less time waiting tables and more time worrying about who she can really trust and who has nefarious motives.

I guess all this seriousness might feel familiar to Charlaine Harris. I can imagine that after years of quiet success as a small town mystery writer, the well-deserved fame and fortune that she has experienced in the past few years isn’t unlike what our dear Sookie is experiencing.

Maybe Modern Sookie is just more relevant to her author than she is to me.

All complaints aside, I can’t say that I am done with Sookie Stackhouse. Even when its overly existential, I’m still invested in this story and will continue to follow it wherever it leads me.

I know I’m not done with Charlaine Harris either. As a creator of one of my favorite genres, I look forward to reading more from her. If I could make one wish for Charlaine, I would wish that she finish Sookie’s story and start on another genre-bending revolution. If there is any author equipped to change the world again, its her.

I am totally serious when I tell you that this is one of the best book series in the history of the world.

If you haven’t heard of it, you are living under a very secluded rock, and your internet access is probably pretty patchy, so I thank you for using your meager bandwidth to read my blog. If you are among the living and have heard of it – but not made the leap into reading it – you are feeling worried and hesitant right now. You don’t like “hunger” and you care less for “games”. Perhaps you tend more toward “eating” and “praying” and “loving” Trust me, I totally feel you. I had similar concerns and I assure you they were completely unfounded.

It should be noted that my beloved friend Vampire Susan read this book before me, and had it not been for her enthusiastic endorsement, I can’t say that I would have read it. The Hunger Games has taught me many things, but first and foremost I learned to trust Vampire Susan when she gets a little teary and scarily insistent about a book.

In addition to the the strident Vampire Susan endorsement, it should not surprise you to learn that I was also attracted to this series because it was being called “The Next Twilight“.

While the writing is orders of magnitude better than The Twilight Saga, it shares a similarly addictive quality and is literally screaming for a film adaption (which is well underway).

From the first page of The Hunger Games, I was obsessed and enchanted on a scale equal to that of Twilight, however it was immediately clear that this was not Twilight. Instead of love triangles and supernatural creatures, it is a dark and violent tale that centers on a sadistic, fight-to-the-death reality television show for children, charmingly called The Hunger Games. Its like Survivor for teenagers, except that participation is compulsory and no one is voted off the island – they are murdered by the other contestants.

The story is set in the nation of Panem, which is located in a vaguely futuristic North America rendered not quite unrecognizable by the ravages of global climate change and society shattering revolution. Panem is comprised of 12 Districts, each teetering uniquely on the cruel and ragged edge of poverty. The citizens of each district are allowed to exist only as cogs in a machine of conspicuous consumption driven by the fleeting and violent appetite of the wealthy, privileged citizens of The Capitol. While Panem is resolutely not America, it is quietly haunted by a familiar American echo. Places and names whisper to the reader that Panem may have once been America, and that America could one day become Panem.

Like Twilight, The Hunger Games is written from the perspective of a dark haired teenage girl, but make no mistake – Katniss Everdeen is no Bella Swan. While Bella takes 3.5 books becomes a bit of a badass, Katniss doesn’t have the luxury of time and the love of a beautiful vampire to coax her into heroism. After losing her father to a mine accident and her mother to paralyzing grief, 12 year old Katniss stepped into the role of parent and provider for her sweet little sister Primrose. So, several years later when Prim turns 12 and is selected as a contestant in the The Hunger Games – where she will surely die – Katniss does not hesitate to take her place.

Nobody’s damsel in distress, Katniss is a hunter and a warrior – strong, savvy and smart. She’s an imperfect heroine whose greatest weaknesses may be her pitch-perfect teenage girl insecurities and her insistence on sacrificing herself for the people she loves.

While there are frequent moments of humor, intrigue and romance, this is undeniably a story about the futility of war and its profound and destructive impact upon children. While it is an exceptional work of escapist, adventure-focused fiction, it is also a timely meditation on class stratification, the media’s glorification of violence and the inherent corruption of power.

Did I mention that this is a Young Adult book?

The brilliant Suzanne Collins does not pander to her young audience. Where other authors may have tried to sugarcoat this story of children forced to kill children, she does not condescend or flinch from the horrors of war and sad finality of death. While it is set in a world consumed by tragedy and hopelessness, it is also a testament to to the bonds of friendship, family and shared humanity. The Hunger Games is more than just a message – it is a sad and beautiful story of patriotism and revolution, betrayal and loyalty, and the transformative power of both love and hate.

It is not for the faint of heart, but never disappoints. Please read it.

Christopher Moore’s Bloodsucking Fiends is a funny and twisted vampire romance from an earlier age of vampire stories, where all the references to pop culture vampires are centered on Anne Rice and Lestat de Lioncourt, instead of Stephenie Meyer and Edward Cullen.

As you know, I possess an inscrutable and unknowable love for THAT vampire series – The Twilight Saga. However, let it not be forgotten that back in the day I was equally psychotic and irrational about Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles. My 1990’s-era copy of The Vampire Lestat featured so many of my favorite passages outlined in fading yellow highlighter that even I had to admit I would have been better served to highlight the passages I did not find profound and beautiful and revolutionary. Growing up in the suburbs of San Francisco, no book entranced and enchanted my teenage soul like The Vampire Lestat. (Except maybe The Stand by Stephen King).

Beset as I am by my love for the most famous vampire series of this century, I am not unfamiliar with the pop psychology analysis of the current vampire craze, which seems to be a bit over-reaching in its suggestion that our predilection for “vegetarian vampires” is emblematic of post-Cold War anxieties and the twin specters of American consumerism and rising globalism…or whatever.

I honestly don’t know what it is about the condition of our economy and society that creates an almost universal interest in vampires. Nor do I know what it says about us that our post-modern vampires eschew the classical view of humans as a food supply, and instead they want to screw us and love us and buy us fancy cars and houses. (Ok, maybe it does suggest we are a tad materialistic.)

Back in the day, however, the popular interest in vampires seemed more blatantly reflective of a collective consciousness haunted by fear and blood and death in the dark shape of the of the exploding AIDS epidemic.

While Bloodsucking Fiends is set in 1990s San Francisco, a city inside the dark heart of a horrifying real-life pandemic, it is mostly a hilarious and charming tale of a magical city populated by quirky and clever outsiders – where homelessness, mental illness – and yes – terminal illness play clever and amusing supporting roles.

Originally published in the mid-nineties, Bloodsucking Fiends follows twenty-something insurance adjuster Jody who wakes up one evening under a dumpster, suddenly immortal with thousands of dollars in cash stuffed in her blouse. Once she realizes that she is a vampire, her biggest regret is that she never shed that stubborn 5 pounds, and is now doomed to carry it forever. Jody is addicted to bad relationships and needs an apartment and a new human boyfriend to help her manage her new nocturnal and supernatural life. She happens upon aspiring writer Tommy Flood, who is naive and kind-hearted and girl crazy. Their unlikely love story unfolds against a backdrop of murder and mayhem colored by a slacker sensibility that is uniquely 1990s.

Two brilliantly-titled sequels have followed Bloodsucking Fiends – Bite Me and You Suck, respectively. I can’t wait to read them and find out how the new millennium and a new vampire craze are treating Jody and Tommy, et al.

So, this book is basically a YA version of A Discovery of Witches. And that’s totally cool. If you don’t want to read a really long book for grown-ups right now, but you still want to read about witches and blood feuds and secret books and time travel and big rambling houses in upstate New York – this is the book for you!

Once A Witch is the story of Tasmin, a snarky cigarette smoking teenager born into a family of powerful witches. Unfortunately, Tasmin seems to have failed to manifest a magical Talent as expected, and is the proverbial black sheep of her family. Overshadowed by a beautiful and Talented sister, Tasmin feels like she dosen’t belong in her own family. So in an attempt to escape the disappointed and piteous gazes of her magically inclined family, she attends a boarding school for humans in New York City.

While home from school for the summer, Tasmin reconnects with childhood friend-that’s-a-boy, Gabriel – who has grown into a hot musician who can time travel. She also falls into the magical trap of a scary-yet-sexy NYU professor and places the existence of her entire family in jeopardy.

This book features several things that I ADORE in a YA book:

1) Gorgeous cover art!

2) Boarding School!!

3) Supernatural shenanigans

4) Teenage drinking and smoking presented in a non-judgmental manner

The sequel to this story – Always a Witch -will be available August and I will surely continue to follow Tasmin’s tale of late blooming magical powers. You should too!

I recently finished reading Honeymoon of The Dead, the final book in Tate Hallaway’s series about reluctant Midwestern witch Garnet Lacey.

I really liked these books, and I am bit sad to see them end. At the same time, I’m glad that Ms. Hallaway quit when she did, instead of sacrificing good storytelling to the great god of sequel sales (nudge, nudge, Charlaine Harris).

Speaking of Charlaine Harris, I probably wouldn’t have discovered these books had I not read – and mostly loved – the Southern Vampire Mysteries series (AKA the books behind the solidly awesome HBO series True Blood).

After finishing what may be the last palatable book in the SVM series (Dead and Gone) I was very sad and longing for a paranormal mystery with a dash of romance to soothe me.

Fortune, it seemed, smiled upon me and I stumbled upon the first book in this series – Tall, Dark and Dead. I immediately liked Garnet – with her spiky, dyed black hair and gothic fashion sensibilities. Under the spooky facade, Garnet is real witch, who is also a Wiccan (yes, Darlings, there is a difference) with a New Age-y leftist bent. Add a vampire boyfriend and some wacky magical shenanigans and I was totally hooked for the first 4 books.

These books also feature some of my favorite book covers in the history of cartoon-style book covers. Its unknown if I would have loved the books quite as much as I did were it not for these whimsical portrayals of the witchy Miss Lacey and her feline friend. The dead-themed titles didn’t hurt either.

The mysteries and romantic entanglements may be a little formulaic and predicable, but they are still solidly fun and engaging. More than anything, I liked the humorous and snarky way Garnet balances the demands of being possessed by the Goddess Lilith, falling in love with a sexy vampire and managing an occult bookstore – all while living in a cute vintage apartment in a quirky neighborhood of a small Midwestern city.

In essence, these books are your standard issue fluffy chick-lit focusing on a sexy independent single girl – with a darkly paranormal twist.

My amusement began to wear thin with the fourth installment, Dead if I Do. I was disappointed that Garnet moved out of her adorable apartment and started settling down into a serious life with her vampire lover, his zombie ex-wife and sullen half-vampire son. But, I had invested in Garnet and even married, she was sure to still be funny and prone to disasters of the supernatural variety. And she was.

If that wasn’t enough to overcome, I also stared reading the personal blog of author Tate Hallaway.

Having learned more that I probably should about the author’s personal life, Honeymoon of the Dead seems distractingly overburdened with thinly veiled personal references and shout-outs to her hometown of Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota. In fact, parts of the book reads like chamber of commerce propaganda for the Twin Cities. Maybe a lot of authors do this, and I don’t know enough about their personal lives to identify and be distracted by it.

However, I also read the personal blog of Richelle Mead, and know all kinds of trivia about her life, but I’m never distracted by self-referential commentary in her novels. So, who knows? In any event, its probably not fair to compare mere mortals to book-goddess Richelle Mead anyway.

Once I was able to get past the shout-outs and I did enjoy the book and was happy with how Garnet’s story ended. However, I cannot get past the horror that is the cover art. I don’t know where this cover came from, but I wish it would go back.

While the series may have gone on a little longer than it needed to, it was fun and entertaining throughout. I think I will miss Garnet, but I am reassured to hear that Tate Hallaway has expanded into YA fiction and has a series of vampire themed books set in – where else – Minneapolis/St. Paul. I can’t resist a YA book, as well you know, so you can expect to hear more about Almost to Die For soon!